Tag: flash fiction

“Why don’t you ever wear the green suit anymore?” asked Mrs. Claus, putting her hand on Santa’s chest. “I love the way you look in the green,” she said in a voice that meant she wanted to be on the naughty list.

“It’s a tradition now. Think of the children,” Santa replied, stroking his white beard in a way that he hoped made him look thoughtful.

“It’s all that Coca-Cola’s fault. Ever since they did all that advertising with you in red, that’s all people think about. Red, red, red. What about white? That’s a nice Christmas-y color.”

Santa sighed, “No dear, It has to be red. Someone might stab me or something if they didn’t see the red.”

“But the elves wear the green!” Mrs. Claus pointed out.

“That’s right, elves! Not Santa. People expect it.”

“I just miss it. Couldn’t you put on the green just for me?”

Santa looked her in the eyes. She had a twinkle in her eye that made it hard to ignore her request. But he couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” said Santa with a sad voice.

“But why?!”

“I just…” Santa hesitated. “I…running this place isn’t cheap, you know. Giving away all these presents? It’s not a good business model, dear. I had to do something or Christmas would have been ruined. It’s Coca-Cola okay? I signed a contract. I have to wear red. It’s part of the deal! And if I drink a Pepsi?!”

Like this:

I suppose it all started with the snow. You see, it was a very special kind of snow. A snow that made the happy happier, and the giddy even giddier. A snow that’d make a homecoming homier, and natural enemies, friends, natural. For it was the first snow of the season. And as any child can tell you, there’s a certain magic that comes with the very first snow, especially when it falls on the day before Christmas.

The children placed the top hat on the head of the snowman.

No one expected anything to happen, least of all the magician Hinkle. But with a flourish, the snowman came alive and said happily, “Happy Birthday!”

It’s difficult to judge what happens inside the mind of a sentient snowman. Perhaps Frosty saw his life flash before his eyes. Or perhaps he was overfilled with the Christmas spirit. Or perhaps the dark lord Baphomet, whose soul had been captured inside the hat by a wizard long ago, woke up from his ensorcelled sleep to find himself inside a crudely shaped, snow-based body with a group of defenseless children nearby.

The children watched in horror as Frosty placed his palms on the ground and began a ritualistic chant. An army of snow creatures rose from the ground and ripped the poor magician limb from limb. A spray of crimson covered the snow, bringing a festive hint of Christmas.

The snow army turned on the children and chased them down the street as Frosty sang:

Frosty the SnowmanHas a demon for a soulWith a corncob pipe and a button noseHe was imprisoned long agoFrosty the SnowmanMade the children scream and prayAnd were they surprised whenBefore their eyesA magician he did flayThere must have been some magicIn that old silk hat they foundFor when they placed it on his headHe summoned monsters from the groundFrosty the SnowmanWas alive as he could beAnd the children sayYou should run awayOr scream for eternity

He had two choices. It was what you might call a classic two-roads-diverging-in-the-woods situation.

Both roads could lead to wonders beyond the realm of human imagination. Both roads could lead to a painful early death involving a tragic snowglobe accident. Or riches. Or tortures that violated the Geneva Convention. Happiness. Horrors. Wonders. Supernatural beings taking his very soul.

There was really no way of knowing.

A classic damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t situation.

An impossible choice. But it was a choice that he had to make. A decision that could change the course of his life forever.

Maybe even the course of all humanity.

They say that the flapping of a butterfly’s wings can cause winds to blow thousands of miles away. If that’s truly the case, then this decision could have effects that rippled through the fabric of time itself. Ripples that could alter the makeup of the universe.

In thousands of years, scientists could be debating the existence of a newly discovered particle. A particle that could very well be brought into existence by the decision in front of him.

They say you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. Maybe this was his shot. His chance. His time. His moment. His Alamo. His Waterloo. His Battle of Thermopylae.

The hands of destiny and fate are too strong for any man to defeat. No amount of pilates or guided meditation could possibly prepare a human for the momentous decision that he had to make today.

But this decision would lead to other decisions. Other choices. A cascade of events that would soon be beyond his control. An avalanche. A stampede of life. A raging river overflowing the levees of his carefully constructed existence.